


A Handwritten Note

by crieshavoc



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, propunk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crieshavoc/pseuds/crieshavoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel wants to apologize to Sarah, but they’re both more accustomed to talking with their fists (post-s2).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Handwritten Note

**Author's Note:**

> Originally an Anon prompt: "propunk bar fight."
> 
> Original summary (from my tumblr): "This turned out different than I expected; differently than I had planned. Then again, so did they."

                Rachel goes to Bobby’s Bar to find Sarah. She goes with the _intention_ of apologizing. For what? Oh, she’s not sure. Rachel knows she’s done _something_ bad. They told her so. Who? Oh, the ghosts. They don’t agree on what, of course, because they hate each other even more than her. They shout and cry and _die_ in her mind. In the confusion, Rachel slips away.

                Rachel goes to find Sarah. She wants to talk to her alone. She watches through the haze and learns Sarah’s routine. Sarah is never alone. Rachel wonders what that’s like, to not be alone. She thinks she used to know, but it’s so hard to _remember_. It gives her a headache, so she closes her eye, but then she can’t see Sarah. Rachel knows how to be patient. Rachel knows how to be a patient. Rachel knows how it is to be patented. Rachel used to have parents, a long time ago.

                Rachel used to have two eyes, not so long ago. Rachel used to see like other people. Rachel has _never_ been like other people. Rachel follows Sarah, one cool night in September, to Bobby’s Bar. Sarah is alone, drinking whiskey and sighing into her glass. Rachel sits next to her and orders the same. Rachel has never had whiskey before, but she immediately understands the appeal. It burns, _cleanses_ , and after a while it tastes good, too. Rachel is also an acquired taste.

                Rachel meant to _talk_ to Sarah, but Sarah is very angry. Sarah is angry and so Rachel is angry. Rachel has been reactionary for _so_ long. Anger makes the haze worse. Rachel tries to hit Sarah, to claw at her eyes. Sarah drags her out into the street and leaves her there. Sarah kicks away the air in her lungs she might have used to ask for mercy, if she dared. Rachel curls into a ball and tries to cry. She meant to _apologize_ , but she can’t remember how.

                Rachel tries again in October: Sarah gives her an earful, a _warning_ , and a bloody lip. Rachel tries again in November: Sarah gifts her with a broken arm and three busted fingers. Rachel tries again in December. She arrives with a handwritten note, because typing seems _impersonal_. Impersonal _used_ to be a good thing, or at least a necessary thing, but now it just feels _wrong._ Rachel sits next to Sarah at the bar and orders whiskey. Rachel slides the note over to Sarah. Sarah is still angry, but perhaps she is curious, too. Rachel _is_ persistent. Rachel is _determined_. The note reads as follows: 

                _Sarah,_

_I am terribly sorry for the hurt I have caused. I want to apologize to you – to everyone, but (as you have witnessed) I keep making a mess of it. I understand that you are still angry and that you do not trust me. You have every right. I expect nothing in return. I just needed you, at least, to know that I am sorry._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Rachel_  

                Rachel hopes mentioning the holiday will encourage forgiveness in Sarah. Rachel may not _expect_ anything, but she hopes. Oh, how she _hopes_. Rachel used to be part of a family, you see, and she’d like to be again. Rachel will always be _cold_ (yes, even in the summertime). Rachel will always be bitter. Rachel will always have suffered what she’s suffered and done what she’s done. She _is_ sorry, that’s true, but she doesn’t exactly _regret_ any of it. Rachel isn’t that sort of person.

                Luckily for Rachel, Sarah isn’t either. Sarah reads her note and puts it in her jacket pocket for Helena to find in the spring. Sarah orders another round (or five) and drinks in silence. Rachel is quiet, next to her, and content that Sarah hasn’t thrown her out into the snow. Eventually, Sarah stands and sways on her feet. Sarah grabs her arm, gently, and guides Rachel outside. The wall is very cold against Rachel’s back and the snow is already up to their shins, but Sarah’s mouth is extremely _warm_. Sarah tastes like Christmas morning and when she leaves, Rachel wonders if there has always been _color_ in the world. She’s never noticed before. Not that she remembers, anyway.


End file.
